Previous posts from the series are located at the bottom of this post.
It’s been a few weeks since my last post (part one) and honestly it’s because that one brought up a few things that rocked me a bit. It was also a post where more people read it from my Facebook page, meaning a lot of family or family friends read it, and seeing those numbers kind of freaked me out. This time, I’m just not going to look. It’s all memories that I’d like to get out of my head for my well-being and I can’t get anxious about those I know reading it.
Moving on, let’s dig up some more.
How about the relapses?
There were a few that I had witnessed. It was quick and rapidly terrifying. Most of the times were at a hotel where there would be a fully stocked mini fridge. Other times, she’d bolt to the local liquor store. Usually prompted by a fight between her and my old stepdad or otherwise it seemed to just happen out of the blue.
You knew before seeing her or smelling her. The energy of the “break” was always palpable. It was a certain kind of energy that I don’t wish to feel ever again. It was a downward shift mixed with shame, guilt, and a crazed excitement (for lack of a better word). It was disgusting and it clung to you and filled your whole body.
Then when you saw her, she was flighty, impulsive, and grasping desperately onto pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t hide my facial expressions so the moment she’d see my face, she always realized I’d known what happened and that I was scared. She then couldn’t hide so then she would try to pick fights with my old stepdad to make it seem like there were reasons within reality as to why she relapsed.
– This is only with alcohol, by the way. I couldn’t tell you much about the drugs because I wasn’t aware of them until much later. I also am only speaking about the times I was around. –
She’d tear around the room, spinning this wild energy around until I couldn’t breathe. There was nowhere to go and I had no clue what to do. I’d hang on the outskirts of the room and try my hardest to pretend I wasn’t there. I’d watch TV or listen to music. It helped a little, but never enough. When her attention would come to me, I’d pretend I hadn’t been listening or that I didn’t see what she’d just done and she would turn away again and I’d be invisible all over.
Hiding in plain sight never lasted long. I’d always be drug into it somehow. Either I’d have to join in on the conversation, dodging any agreement to anything (that whatever her issue was was reason enough for her to be this upset), or pretending to not know anything.
It’s a lot easier to assume ignorance when the other person is drunk. If I really didn’t know anything she was talking about, I’d might as well not have a brain in my head. I just didn’t want to be in the conversation or near her and the easiest way to be separate was for me to lie.
Hours or a night would go by and then would come the crying and apologizing. An immediate departure back home typically came soon after that. Those car rides always felt a lot longer than they’d been on a non-relapse occasion. I’m so thankful to have had a Walkman that I could turn the volume up on until even my thoughts were drowned out.
Life would go on. I’d pretend it didn’t happen, but still have my watchful eye. And I wouldn’t tell a soul.